


Rules of Fodder.  Drabbles 1-25/25.

by punky_96



Series: Fodder Verse [1]
Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: 51 Worst Horror Movie Cliches, F/F, Gen, Other, halloween fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 23:30:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10774746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punky_96/pseuds/punky_96
Summary: Drabbles based on the 51 Worst Horror Movie Cliches. These drabbles were created to prepare for Dragon Dates: October 2013.They follow Bruce and Lenny, who are ugly little monster reptilian demonesque creatures hunting the DWP crew.These are Halloween related and CRACK!FIC, in case you weren't familiar with them.Content Notes: minor character death, it is a horror genre so that’s kind of the point, but it’s Jocelyn, Nate and other minor folks this time and not Emily at least.(Fics are being transferred over in the same state that they were originally posted.  If you didn't like the fic the first time, then don't waste your time reading it this time.)





	Rules of Fodder.  Drabbles 1-25/25.

  
_**Rules of Fodder. 1-25/25.**_  
  
 _ **1\. We Travel In Packs. (822 words)**_  
  
Away from the photo shoot, quiet descended. For the figures tucked inside of the shrubbery it was just a pause in the usual order of the world. That same quiet to anyone else passing by would have sent chills up and down the spine as well as creating a breakout of gooseflesh. Humans were stupid, but there was no denying that their survival instincts weren’t still there. They could usually pick up on the presence of something other-worldly, even if they never believed it themselves. Instead they just usually fell into the humans are stupid category and convinced themselves that they had heard nothing and felt nothing.  
  
Lenny nudged his mentor Bruce causing the bushes to rustle.  
  
Turning, Bruce leveled a Force Ten glare at his new partner and then let out a series of noises to simulate a cat fight.  
  
Realizing his mistake and why his mentor sounded like a cat in heat, Lenny’s eyes bulged and he made himself as small as he could.  
  
Bruce narrowed his eyes at the relative youngster and turned back to look at the scene. The humans were about done and with any luck they could get some breakfast. Otherwise it was going to be a long night with the youngster, Lenny, in tow.  
  
Feeling Lenny close against him before he even rested his scaly arm on his shoulder, Bruce girded his loins for contact. Sure enough, Lenny’s humid breath wafted past his ear with another juvenile request. His paw stretching out before them as he pointed at a tall, somber, silver-haired woman talking on her cell phone as she approached an idling black town car. “That one looks tasty. Can we get her?”  
  
Rolling his eyes at the request, Bruce pushed Lenny away from him rustling the bushes once more. He made a few more cat noises and then shook his head at the child. “I don’t know how you even graduated, Lenny.” He turned to look back at the departing humans, checking for formation. “What are the Rules of Fodder?” Might as well use the teachable moment since he wasn’t getting any younger, Bruce supposed. In his brain he could see Lenny as his unfortunate namesake in that Disney Film about mafia sharks reciting, ‘Fish are friends, not food.’  
  
Thankfully the youngster was able to pull together his answer correctly the first time. “Fodder must consist of a group no smaller than six members of either friends, family, or tourists.”  
  
Bruce could just about hear the pride in Lenny’s voice. He knew that if he turned around the kid would have a happy smile on his face. Bruce rolled his eyes and was about to turn around when he saw a promising group of humans stumble into view from the east. Sighing when they didn’t meet specs either, Bruce prompted. “And?” He didn’t have to turn around to see the deflation of his partner. ‘Who said kicking puppies was a bad thing?’ Bruce wondered. He was having a great time.  
  
Eventually, Lenny followed up his answer with a dejected, “It is best that the fodder represent, in so far as possible, both genders, the main race categories and flavors.”  
  
Almost satisfied, Bruce turned to the other creature in the bushes with him. “Flavors?” He prompted once more.  
  
Lenny nodded his head and tried not to squirm from the excitement of getting things right, or at least not wrong, for once. “Jock, Cheerleader, Nerd, Stoner, Loner, Hippie, Yuppie, Fashionista, and Clacker.” On the last word, Lenny’s grotesque tongue slipped out from its usual home to wipe excessive saliva off of his face. He made a humming sound that reflected his obvious love of his favorite flavor.  
  
Bruce nodded and then motioned with his head back to where the silver haired woman and the black town car had been. “And the woman you wanted to eat?”  
  
Lenny looked down at the ground sighing. “She was practically alone and while both genders were represented, only one racial category and two flavors were present.”  
  
The fake smile mirrored the fashionistas that they had been tracking most of the day in that it did not represent any form of true happiness. “See you’re learning so quickly, just another three hundred years with me, and you’ll be hunting on your own.” It had already been a long three hundred years getting to this point, neither Bruce, nor Lenny wanted another three centuries.  
  
Lenny took the insult quietly looking down at his Chucks and trying not to fidget. Inhaling so that he could sigh once more, the youngster looked up with his eyes wide. “Jocks.” He dazedly said as he stepped to the viewing edge of the bushes. “I think we’ve got dinner!” He practically vibrated with joy as he waved his arm for Bruce to make the confirmation and order the kill.  
  
“Good eye, Lenny. Good eye.” Bruce patted his exuberant partner on the back. “Go get ‘em!” He ordered.  
  
  
 _ **2\. Parents Just Don’t Understand. (487 words)**_  
  
They had been staking out the townhouse for weeks and Bruce was beginning to lose patience with Lenny—again. It was one thing to have a favorite flavor. It was one thing to obsess over that flavor. However stalking was still illegal in all 50 states. Thankfully, unlike Texas, New York did not still have hanging on the books as a valid form of execution. Then again, death for his kind meant a warm welcome at home in Hell. Bruce shook his head and turned to look at his partner again. He was losing his mind and hoped that the youngster had finally gotten it right this time. If he could just lead 10 Successful Hunts in a row, then Bruce would be free of him. ‘Hope, by God, I live on it.’ He thought to himself as he spared a glance up at the heavens he had left behind so long ago. “What are we doing here again?” He growled toward his partner as they took up position under the back bedroom windows.  
  
Hearing movement inside the room and seeing the light go on, Lenny’s face lit up. He motioned with a fat oozing finger encrusted with dirt and a few old meals to indicate that they were listening in.  
  
The tall, silver haired woman was pacing near the window. Her voice ebbed and flowed with her rotations past the glass. Bruce tilted his head and contemplated what he knew: this woman was a parent as well as a fashionista. He supposed that they were listening for the magic words.  
  
After a big sigh, the woman stopped just above them. “Andrea, they’ve just been behaving so weird lately. The twins must be on drugs.”  
  
Eyes popping wide in their sockets, Bruce looked at Lenny in amazement. The youngster might have been fixated on the older fashionista, but he had recognized a well-protected lady when he saw one. Instead he was falling back on Plan B, which Bruce didn’t even know Lenny was capable of having.  
  
“Twins.” Lenny indicated in a ghastly whisper as he held up his fingers to reinforce the number. “We each get one.”  
  
Bruce nodded his understanding of the significance of the parental declaration practically giving the green light, then he pointed out that pesky detail he had been trying to get Lenny to comprehend in that thick skull of his. “Rules about fodder.” His voice tilted up just enough to make the words a question.  
  
Beaming still, Lenny shook himself into better posture, not that their kind needed it. “Party for their birthday in two months.” Once again he indicated the number with his upraised fingers. Licking his lips, he continued, “At that time all genders, main racial categories, age groups, and flavors will be represented.”  
  
Giving Lenny a hard smack on the shoulder, Bruce couldn’t help the half-grin forming on his face. “Well, that’s going to be a party to remember.”  
  
  
  
 _ **3\. Let’s Investigate. (490 words)**_  
  
The group had finally settled down after the excitement of cake and presents. Lenny and Bruce were biding their time outside the entertainment room window. On screen Freddy Kreuger’s pre-wolverine slasher claws were out and he was stalking down a darkened hallway. The film held a pregnant pause and in the silence a strange noise outside scared all of the teens into each other’s arms.  
  
The hosts of the party, two red heads, looked at each other as the film continued and the other teens relaxed back into that edge of your seat tension normal for the flick. “Did you hear that?” One of the twins whispered to the other.  
  
“Yeah. It wasn’t part of the movie, was it?” The slightly younger and more freckly one asked.  
  
Shaking her head, the first twin scooted out of her boyfriend’s arms. “Let’s go investigate.” She tugged her twin by her hand.  
  
Stopping at the doorway, the following twin ducked down, “If we’re gonna fumble around in the dark, then we should at least take the flashlight.”  
  
Underneath the window outside, Lenny rubbed his scaly, dirty paws together in anticipation. “I love it when a plan comes together.” He whispered giddily at his partner.  
  
Bruce nudged him and indicated the sliding glass door to the back patio. They needed to be in position to make this work. In the strong smelling Jasmine shrubbery, Bruce figured they were as hidden as they needed to be in the dark. The sliding glass door slid open and he heard the soft steps of bare human pre-pubescent feet on the cold concrete slab. He scented the air in anticipation of a very well-groomed dinner. If he had to admit it, fashionista was his favorite flavor as well. Besides the anticipation that stalking brought out just enhanced the flavor.  
  
His eyes opening wide, Bruce reached out and yanked Lenny from his sprinter’s starting position at the edge of the bushes. Then he smacked him hard on the back of the head. While Lenny hung onto the bushes and waved them wildly back and forth in his shock, Bruce made the requisite cats in heat fighting noises. He even snapped a branch and swished some of the leaves around for effect.  
  
Panicked, their prey, the twin red headed girls, ran back inside screaming about something on the back patio.  
  
“What was that for?” Lenny tried not to roar. “We’ve missed them now.”  
  
Bruce pointed back at the house as he rounded on his younger partner. “They were virgins, you idiot.” His eyes flared red and steam actually came out of the side of his neck as he seethed. “That’s not a rule of fodder. That’s so basic it isn’t even listed in the Rules of Fodder.” Climbing the shrubbery in order to mount the top of the wooden fence, Bruce growled, “You should never have graduated and now I’m stuck with you.” Then he slipped away in the darkness.  
  
  
  
 _ **4\. Can You Hear Me Now? (1807 words)**_  
  
Hungry after not eating for days, Lenny salivated in the bushes across the street from the fashion offices. He saw that red headed fashionista go in there twenty minutes ago with the bald man, and the tall blonde. With her attitude and eye shadow he just knows that she’ll be tasty. Not as tasty as he imagines the silver haired one would be, but yummy nonetheless. As soon as the bald man and the blonde crawl into one of those hideous yellow taxis, Lenny makes his move.  
  
By the time security was investigating the door opening, Lenny was in the elevator hopping up to hit the button. He smiled a big toothy grin as the door slid shut before the man in the tan security uniform could turn around. He didn’t want to have to eat him just for being nosy.  
  
It took Lenny a while to find the correct floor as he had to let the door open and give a sniff every thirty seconds or so. Eventually he found the floor that said RUNWAY. He thought that was funny because soon enough the red head would be running away. He laughed so hard that he was soon rolling on the floor of the elevator. The door shut and he found himself going up. “Uh oh.” He muttered to himself before he bounced off the walls in such a way as to project himself out of the top escape hatch. He’d just have to ride the floors until it was empty again. Thankfully he only had to go up two floors, but he let out a big sigh as he realized the smelly man with his smelly cologne must be going to the ground floor. Once the doors shut again on the lobby, Lenny slipped down into the car and hopped up to press the button again.  
  
Lenny bounded from the elevator car like a hound that had been given a fresh scent and held back far too long. The red head’s scent was easy to follow in the well-lit clean glassy halls of the fashion lair. Not realizing that stealth might aide in his hunting pursuits, Lenny jumped out into the open area where there were two desks facing each other and a double wide door into another office with an even bigger desk. Lenny momentarily was overwhelmed by the epicenter of fashionista smells as he took in the combined scent of the red head, the tall blonde, the divine silver-haired one, and even the baldy man.  
  
Gasping and then reaching for the phone, Emily’s eyes bugged out wide enough to eclipse her eye shadow.  
  
Pressing the security button did nothing.  
  
Hanging up and then trying again did nothing.  
  
The creature slowly blinked its euphoric eyes and then focused on her.  
  
Squeaking louder than when she found out her boss was having an affair with that Andy, the red head rounded the desk only to find that it was now between her and the exit. Narrowing her eyes at this interruption to her day, Emily gave another squeak as it lunged at her. Turning on her heel, Emily slammed the double doors of Miranda’s office. Huffing out her satisfaction as she heard it thud against the door, she quickly pushed one of the guest chairs over to block the doorway. It wasn’t much, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do.  
  
Trying Miranda’s phone proved that it really was insanity when you tried the same thing again and expected a different result. By this time the thuds against the doors were enough to move it and she could hear the splintering of wood around the locking mechanism. Looking around in a panic, Emily saw three options: the executive washroom, the window, and fighting whatever little beasty was on the other side of the door.  
  
Looking around, Emily saw the window. Her stiff British upper lip wanted to vote for fighting, however it was overruled as it was reminded that security had not in fact been called and were not in fact on their way up. Rounding Miranda’s desk, Emily reached for the catch in the corner of the windowsill.  
  
She tugged. Then she tugged again. The thudding behind her was truly ominous now as she heard the creaks and cracks in the wood giving way. Emily tugged again on the latch. It finally gave and she crawled up on the windowsill that her boss often stood at. Looking out the window, the fresh air and the fact that she would have to leave her shoes nearly convinced Emily that she wanted to fight after all.  
  
Then the grunting, drooling, scaly, gooey creature was through the breach and Emily had her shoe in her hand. She whacked at him momentarily and then just decided to kick him back losing her other shoe in his chest. Satisfied that she had carved out a few seconds, Emily slipped out of the glass and made sure to heave it closed. Surely the latch would give him as much trouble as it gave her.  
  
Her eyes roving everywhere they could, except down, Emily spotted the—always there when you need one—window washing rig. Hugging the glass the best she could, Emily was reaching on tip toe with her right hand for the rig when she heard the salivating beasty open the window and join her on the ledge. Pushing, Emily just made it into the rig. She swung her body between the rungs and staggered across to the controls. The creature was closing in on her, fueled by its hunger and sharing none of Emily’s fears. Pressing Down, Emily felt no response. Pressing Up, Emily again had no response. Frantic now, she eyed the thing looking for an On button. Relieved she pressed it and then pressed Down once more. Still no response, even though the light indicated On. ‘Blast it.’ Emily muttered as she pressed the Up button.  
  
Not willing to jump to her death or really wanting to fight the creature in the window-washing rig, Emily reached for insanity again by pushing the Down button. With a shuddering protest the machine jerked to life taking her away from her apparently two-legged pursuer.  
  
Holding the button down, Emily leaned her body against the metal railing. She couldn’t quite count the floors as they went by, her brain too frazzled for that kind of logic, but she could see the ground getting closer and closer.  
  
She heard it before she knew what it was—a vague metallic whirring above her. At first she thought one of the cables was fraying. Emily held her hand over her brow as she looked up trying to see what it was. The creature had wrapped itself around a cable and was sliding around and around ever faster down towards her.  
  
The rig reached the ground just is it reached the platform. Emily tried to scurry out between the bars, but then its scaly sticky paws were on her. There was no sound, no smell, no feeling as Emily’s mind shut down and she flailed about like a possessed whirligig.  
  
Then there was nothing. Emily gasped, her body stopping and her senses coming back online in an overwhelming instant. “Wot?” She looked around. Seeing her creature being led off by another larger though no less disgusting beast, Emily jumped out of the window rig and screeched again. “Wot the frakking hell?”  
  
The beast’s master stopped, its posture going rigid. “Thought you’d just like a bit of rescue is all.” Somehow his body indicated a shrug though Emily would not swear in a court of law that the thing had shoulders.  
  
“A bit of rescue.” Emily huffed, her accent taking over her sense, as she stalked toward two ghastly creatures who it was hit or miss on whether they wanted to kill her or not. The little one still seemed to be salivating and making rather crazy eating gnashing of teeth sort of motions. Emily wanted to put it in her pocket and take it home. “Wot the bloody hell was that?”  
  
Scrunching up his features certainly didn’t help his attractiveness, but he seemed apologetic enough. The bigger one smacked the littler one on the back of the cranium. “Lenny, don’t quite have the rules down yet, Miss.”  
  
Emily narrowed her eyes at the use of Miss at her. She wondered if this was how her boss felt when people called her Mrs. Priestly. “Delicious.” The little one daydreamed out as he was staring at Emily once more. “She’s not a virgin, that one. What’d I do wrong now?” He turned sad reptilian eyes at the other one and blinked. Emily could almost swear she could see a tear and wondered how on earth such an animal had been able to master that level of cute.  
  
“We track packs, Lenny.” The bossy one cooed at him, before slapping him against the head and turning him around. Before Emily could get in another word he made a tipping of the hat motion at her and marched the original perpetrator down the sidewalk.  
  
Emily watched them go fascinated by her encounter with the grotesque and thankful for whatever rule had saved her life and the strange fellow that came to enforce it.  
  
“Not a virgin!” She stamped her foot as she replayed the conversation in her mind. She turned to go on her way only to realize that she was at the back of the Elias Clark building with no shoes and a very few choices. The window rig would take her up, but she knew that even if it worked once again, the window was most likely shut tight. Perhaps she could ride it all the way to the roof, but then again the door would be locked. It wasn’t as if anything she had done to escape the clutches of death this evening had actually worked for her.  
  
Muttering to herself, Emily made her way barefoot around to the front of the building. When security started to question her, she leveled a Force-10 glare at them, pointed heavenward and coldly whispered, “You do not want to know and if the phones would have worked none of this would have happened.” Pushing through the turnstile, Emily slipped into a ready elevator—slumping thankfully against the back wall as it rose with the slightest press of the button. Inhaling, she wrinkled her nose, “Well, he definitely came up this way, stinky little fellow.” Shaking her head as she stalked back to her desk, Emily couldn’t believe the night she had been surviving. “The Book better bloody well be here by now.” She muttered as she approached her desk.  
  
Gathering her shoes, keys, and The Book, Emily checked that Miranda’s window was closed before she left.  
  
The busted double doors would have to wait until morning.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **5\. I’m Gonna Run! (443 words)**_  
  
It had been a wonderful evening. Bruce and Lenny hadn’t been invited of course, but it was a lovely evening all the same. Finally the fashionistas had gone out in a pack representing the genders, the various races, and all the beautiful flavors. The stretch limo had been easy enough to follow and by now the twosome was terribly familiar with the street that the town house was on.  
  
Jumping out from the shrubbery just as the brunette followed the silver one, Bruce and Lenny used their advantage of surprise to drive the group in different directions. The car they had all just scrambled out of was less than three feet away. The house they were all intending to enter was perhaps fifteen feet away when the sidewalk, front path, steps, and front porch were taken into account. Central Park with its dark shadows and almost forested bits filled with all kinds of dangers, was a half mile away. The group took off running towards it.  
  
“Run, rabbit, RUN!” Bruce couldn’t help chanting as they followed their prey. It was so nice when your dinner warmed itself up for you.  
  
After thirty minutes of chase, Bruce had only been able to catch the slowest of the group. Lenny continued on hoping that one of the really tasty morsels would trip on a rock, sprain its ankle, and let him sink his teeth in. After another thirty minutes of chasing scents around the park, Lenny gave up and returned to where he had left Bruce. At least they could share the weak one from the pack.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Two hours later in front of the town house, Andrea opened the door for a breathless Emily.  
  
“Is that everyone now?” Miranda’s voice called from the study.  
  
Andrea and Emily shared looks as they walked down the hallway where everyone was seated with a beverage of choice looking a little worse for wear. “I think they got Jocelyn.” Emily briefed the group.  
  
Looking dismayed, Miranda sighed, “Well, I guess they’ll be back then.” When the room stilled and she felt everyone’s eyes on her, Miranda elaborated. “Florals for Spring?” She reminded them, “I can’t imagine she’d be very tasty.”  
  
At this everyone either: laughed, sprayed their drink, or took another hearty swallow.  
  
“Now, then. For the October issue, I’m thinking…” Inwardly everyone groaned at the delightfully inspired tone Miranda’s voice had taken on. Not only had they just survived another Runway event, but they had literally run for their lives, and now the boss was inspired and they all knew how that could wind itself out to the wee hours of the morning.  
  
  
  
 _ **6\. No… That WASN’T The Wind. (419 words)**_  
  
The grandfather clock in the hallway struck three with a deep resonating tone. Andrea waited until Miranda stepped next to the bed to turn off the light. It had been a long evening into the night. Miranda had been like a woman possessed as she found her inspiration and worked the team right up until the witching hour and then beyond it. Snuggling close to Miranda for warmth and comfort, Andrea relaxed for the first time in hours. Miranda’s soothing hands were warm against her skin, but soon enough the tips of her fingers were teasing under the edges of her pajamas. “Miranda?” The younger woman quietly asked her lover. She was trembling with desire, but still felt the residual stressors of running for her life.  
  
“I just want to celebrate life, darling.” Miranda purred as she rolled up and over her lover. Nuzzling her nose against Andrea’s cheek and then leaning down to suck on her pulse point, Miranda knew she could not be resisted. Slipping her leg between Andrea’s, Miranda made sure to let her short nightgown ride up so that they were touching skin to skin. Andrea reached up, one hand tangling in Miranda’s short silver hair and the other teasing against her side. In moments her hips were thrusting against Miranda as their passion built.  
  
 **WHOOOOOOOOO.**  
  
‘Holy shit, that’s probably those beasties that attacked Emily at Runway and then chased all of us tonight, brutally killing Jocelyn.’ They each thought something along these lines, however neither said a word.  
  
Gasping, Miranda arched her back and turned to look around the room. Her eyes were wide as she tried to see more than she could in the semi-dark. Andrea rose up on her elbows underneath Miranda, their bodies brushing tantalizingly against each other. Her heart raced now for the horrific thoughts running through her head. “What’s that?” Andrea whispered. The tremor in her voice brought Miranda back around as she crashed their lips together in a life-affirming kiss: a kiss that would quiet the hobgoblins creeping out of the corners of their minds.  
  
Andrea fell back on the bed, her arms pulling Miranda against her. “It’s probably just the wind.” Miranda breathed against her throat as her fingers found the edge of Andrea’s pajama pants. No brush with death was going to interfere with Runway, or her need to be with Andrea.  
  
In the corner, Bruce nodded at Lenny who rounded his reptilian, saliva covered lips into a circle ready to imitate the wind once more.  
  
  
 _ **7\. Why Do We Own This? (498 words)**_ (Small dedication on this one to [Zombie Tools out of Missoula](http://zombietools.net/about-zombie-tools/), MT. Look them up. If you can—watch the two part Zombie special they did.)  
  
‘Blueberry pancakes.’ Cassidy rolled over, her eyes opening wide as she inhaled once more. Sounds in the kitchen this early on a Saturday morning could only mean one thing: Her mom was making blueberry pancakes. She was so glad that it seemed to be a family trait to favor the breakfast delight. After all it meant that when mom wanted a treat the kids did too. Cassidy saw no reason to turn away a treat. Jumping up, she raced across the hallway to wake her sister.  
  
A tiny bit of brushing later, the twin red heads slipped into the kitchen to hug their mother from the sides as she flipped another small pancake. “Morning, my angels.” Miranda practically hummed to them.  
  
“Morning, mum.” The girls chorused as they took in the spread before them.  
  
Tipping a smaller mixing bowl of batter to get a better look, Caroline asked, “For Andrea?”  
  
Miranda spared her a sideways glance and then a wink. “Yes, dear.” The lines were firmly drawn when it came to breakfast products; Priestly women preferred blueberries, while the lone Sachs woman still preferred bananas.  
  
Shifting the machete out of her way so that she could lean her arms on the table, Cassidy asked, “What’s up today? It’s so early. Do you have a photo shoot or something?”  
  
Pulling out her chair, Caroline squeaked as a sheathed but poorly balanced Zombie Tool clattered to the floor. It could have taken off her toe, but she pulled back in time. Bending down she picked up the heavy instrument of death and leaned it against the wall just next to the back staircase. “Your Accessory for the Apocalypse almost took off my toes, mom.” She tutted as she turned back around to join her sister at the table.  
  
Stumbling a little more than the twins, Andrea made her way into the kitchen. Her eyes were still half closed and the twins snickered at the sight of her. Turning, Andrea tripped slightly on the sheathed blade against the wall, but kept going. Giving their mother a kiss on the cheek, she continued reaching out along the counter for the prize—a steaming cup of coffee.  
  
A few sips into her mug of sunshine, Andrea looked around the room. The twins were spinning the machete on the table, the blade she had nearly tripped over was propped near the stairs and her lover was pouring banana pancake batter into a pan. Despite the three small towers of blueberry pancakes, Andrea thought something was wrong with this picture. Stepping over to the table, Andrea picked up the spinning machete and ignored the disappointed groans from the twins.  
  
“Darling,” she turned to face Miranda. “Why do we own this?”  
  
Outside the window, Bruce groaned. Lenny turned questioning eyes to him, so he explained his disappointment. ‘They’re ready for zombies.’ Even Lenny amongst his dim wits knew what that meant—‘they’re ready for anything.’ He followed his partner across the backyard with his own groan.  
  
  
 _ **8\. See No Evil, Hear No Evil. (192 words)**_  
  
“Mom?” The young red head slipped into her mother’s study.  
  
“Yes, dearest.” Miranda looked up from her newspaper.  
  
“I found this on the floor in the entry way again.” The girl held out the Book covered in blood and torn slightly from claw marks.  
  
“Thank you, dear.” Miranda said as she reached out for the mock-up. When her daughter slipped closer, she pulled her in for a quick kiss against her hair. Once the girl’s footsteps were faint, Miranda reached for her cell phone. “Emily.” After being acknowledged, Miranda stated her reason for calling. “We need another new girl in the morning.”  
  
Emily acknowledged Miranda’s request. What she did not acknowledge, nor did anyone acknowledge, were the portents of doom all around the house—the weird noises, the footprints, or the bloody trail down to the basement. Roy knew not to wait when the book was being dropped off. Miranda regularly slipped the Book into a ziplock for return to the office. Emily knew to hire a new girl every 1-3 weeks. Virgins lasted longer, it was true—it was just that they were just so hard to come by these days.  
  
  
  
 _ **9\. Don’t Ever Ask For Directions. (534 words)**_  
  
  
Swinging his arm sideways, Lenny thumped Bruce across the chest. “They’re pulling over.” His voice was shrill despite his gruesome visage, intimidating claws, and bloodthirsty eyes. It was always odd to see how completely one could be transformed by love of one’s vocation. Bruce fought the urge to pat the partner he had never wanted on the head.  
  
The rundown gas station in the middle of nowhere wasn’t as ideal as that house they passed a few miles back in the middle of the woods, but it would do just fine. The Cadillac Escalade slowed to a stop over the crunchy gravel and after some discussion, the bald headed man eased the door open. He was turned to respond to the red head in the cab, but his foot touched down on the gravel with no hesitation. Lenny lunged forward while Bruce circled around the front of the SUV.  
  
“Emily.” The bald man rolled his eyes and reached out for the paper. “Hand it over.”  
  
In the intervening silence, the man shifted his weight back and forth on his stiff legs. They had been driving for too long and it was really getting to him. Bruce laced his talons into the front grill of the vehicle in preparation for springing up on the hood. Lenny’s mouth was open, his teeth shining in the moonlight and saliva almost dripping onto the man’s ankle. From inside the cab, the red head’s voice dripped with disdain, “You might as well ask where the best place is for these demented backwoods fellas to hunt us down one by one and brutally murder us.” The man huffed out a puff of air and raised his hand higher towards her.  
  
Paper shoved into his hands, the bald man spun in the direction of the derelict garage building that didn’t really have a light on and didn’t really seem to be locked up properly and, come to think of it, didn’t even seem to have gas pumps from this decade.  
  
“Ow!” The bald man said kicking out his leg and looking down at the same moment that the windshield was blasted out behind him. He didn’t know whether to be shocked at the sight of the monstrous creature rolling away from his ankle, the larger beasty that was holding its cheek and growling at the little one, or the sight of Emily leaning forward on the dashboard, head out of where the windshield had been, and an insanely large weapon in her hand aimed steadily at the pair of would be attackers.  
  
“Come on, Lenny.” The bald man thought he heard within the growling.  
  
“Fodder Fire Power.” Seemed to be the response from the smaller creature. Watching them go, he figured that he should just be thankful that they had run off and not question it all too thoroughly.  
  
Turning back to his companion, Nigel furled his upper lip at Emily and scolded her, “You never said you were MI6, baby.” This was followed by a growl that they would never speak of again.  
  
Looking at him, Emily pretended to blow the smoke off of her gun before stuffing it in her Marc Jacobs handbag. “I told you not to stop and ask for directions.”  
  
  
 _ **10\. Don’t Be A Tough Guy. (530 words)**_  
  
Opening the townhouse door, Andrea’s brown eyes popped open. “What are you doing here?” She held the door with one hand and kept her body across the opening. It had been an incredibly weird few weeks and she didn’t want to take any chances with the twins and Miranda.  
  
Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Nate looked down and softly begged her, “Aw, Andy, don’t be like that.” Receiving no response, he looked up and continued. “I heard about what was going on. I just want you to be all right.”  
  
Her brown eyes searched his trying to find any trace of deceit or manipulation. They were supposedly trying to be friends, so she decided she needed to give him the benefit of the doubt. Pushing back from the door, she silently invited him in. “You can stay until Miranda gets home.” There was no way he was hanging around once they were all together again.  
  
They were watching High School Musical 3 in the entertainment room and Nate almost offered to stand guard down in the foyer. He just knew that those red headed manipulators would have him doing those stupid dance routines after about fifteen minutes. Sometimes he really hated having a little niece that he loved too much. Sometimes he hated that Andy had shared that information with the hell spawn. It was bad enough watching the love of his life embrace her new world. Why did he have to have a soft spot for that woman’s kids as well?  
  
They had almost made it to the end, with a snoozing Andy and quiet twins, when the power went out with a loud crack. Immediately they were all tense and looking at each other for comfort. Nate stood in the center of the room in some quasi-fighting posture that he must have seen on the home shopping network when they were advertising for ninja costumes. It would have been funny, except for, “What was that?” Cassidy shrieked as something ran past the open door of the room in the hallway.  
  
“I’ve got it.” Nate assured them before running after it.  
  
The girls jumped up from their seats and went to the edges of the couch. Pulling back up and brandishing blades for the end of the world, they wrapped the throw blankets over their shoulders. When Andrea motioned her surprise, they shrugged and Cassidy whispered, “It’s cold, Andy.”  
  
Caroline stepped closer handing Andrea the remaining blanket. “With the power out, we don’t know what will happen.” Andrea nodded dumbly. She wasn’t sure why Miranda’s children were oddly prepared but after the ‘if you’re prepared for zombies, then you’re prepared for anything’ speech over pancakes, Andrea was not surprised.  
  
“What about Nate?” The brunette asked quietly as she draped the blanket over her shoulders.  
  
“He’s not a virgin, is he?” Cassidy looked doubtful. They were kids, but they knew how the world worked. “I mean that would go in his favor—”  
  
She was cut off, when her sister proclaimed, “If you act like a tough guy, then you’re dead.” She shook her head at the predicted loss—he was pretty cute doing those Wildcats Cheers with them.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **11\. I’m Just So Damn Horny. (257 words)**_  
  
The models that were still alive were being chased in what seemed like circles around the set. The photographer and the new assistant had been brutally ripped apart. Nigel had pushed Serena toward the repaired Escalade. It wasn’t clear whether those horrible wet sounds were of his demise, or perhaps the beasty’s.  
  
Nothing mattered once the door of the Escalade shut. Her body was pressed against the glass from behind as cold hands pulled her around to face her attacker. Her screams were devoured by ravenous lips pressing against her mouth. Inhaling, Serena’s hands stuttered to a stop from their rising attack position. Her heart was racing, adrenalin pumping through her veins, but this felt so right. Pressing forward, her hands coming down to take dominance, Serena pushed the thin body of her British attacker into the bench seat. Hands were pulling at clothes, lips left lips in order to trace teeth along flesh and seek out pulses.  
  
The vehicle rocked and swayed. A cacophony of sounds both filled and surrounded the SUV of safety.  
  
Once the carnage had died down, Bruce and Lenny took stock of the situation: three models, a photographer, one assistant and a few wounded. They had enough to last them for weeks.  
  
“OHHHHHHHH!!!!!” A wail sounded out from the Escalade and the rhythmic swaying resumed.  
  
Bruce and Lenny shared an amused glance. “Too easy.” Bruce laughed as the pair returned to the victims.  
  
Wiping the back of his paw against his bloody mouth, Lenny agreed. “Keep fodder alive to keep it fresh.”  
  
  
  
 _ **12\. If They Could Only Hear the Music. (446 words)**_ (In the ‘Urban Jungle’ scene I swear there are live snakes.)  
  
Lenny and Bruce looked down on the hapless pack of fodder draping themselves with snakes and feather boas in addition to their fancy clothes. Perched in the trees they had an unlimited view of their prey as they waited for them to form up in the proper formation for a chase. Lenny favored the silver haired one that seemed to be the pack leader, but Bruce had decided on the red headed one with so much fire. He thought that they had shared a moment when he saved her from Lenny that night on the window-washing rig, but he knew it was love when she shot at him through the windshield of that monstrous SUV.  
  
The problem with their preferred flavor of fodder was that fashionistas rarely formed up in the proper allotment for a by the book chase and hunt. The straight male was usually missing. On the nights that they were in attendance, then the fodder usually was of sufficient number to surpass the maximum number of fodder. They had really screwed up the night they chased them from the house all the way to Central Park and only gotten that one rather bland one that the fodder called Jocelyn.  
  
“Why are we up so high, Bruce?” Lenny liked watching his prey, but from high up in the trees he couldn’t even get a nibble.  
  
Bruce motioned down to indicate their current altitude. “From this height The Powers That Be don’t consider us a threat to the fodder.” He motioned toward their two favorite ladies standing close together and pursing their lips.  
  
“Yeah, and?” Lenny shrugged as he was still not getting it and even if he couldn’t have a nibble, he thought he should at least get to smell their perfume.  
  
“The music, Lenny.” Bruce shook his head at the youngster. There was still so much he didn’t seem to know. When Lenny turned blank eyes at him and raised his eyebrows in question, Bruce elaborated. “You know, the ominous theme music that says the baddie is lurking close by?” Bruce inhaled and exhaled—he didn’t want his blood pressure rising now. “It always ruins the element of surprise and, quite frankly, it’s so trite.” When Lenny shrugged in the way of ‘I don’t know what you are talking about, but if you say so’, Bruce nodded back at him. “When that writer gets here to flirt with the one in the crocs, we can go.” Raising his reptilian finger up at Lenny, he admonished him, “Pay attention to the music this time.” Turning away to watch the fodder mill about in their daily routines, Bruce muttered, ‘I swear they are punishing me.’  
  
  
 _ **13\. Slow-mo Pre-Butchering. (853 words)**_  
  
Fake smiles, fake jewelry, fake breasts—the gala was a swimming success as far as Bruce and Lenny could tell from their perches underneath the banquet tables. So far the hunting was not going so swimmingly, yet they were working on their stealth and surprise skills by slinking around from table to table, lifting skirts, and generally causing trouble. It was the season for scaring what with the big day of Halloween in two weeks. As Lenny skidded to a stop at the end of a long aisle, Bruce thudded into him and they nearly tumbled out into full view of one of the more screechy women. Bruce flexed his fingers into Lenny’s shoulders drawing blood and inhaled ready to let loose with a lecture. His thoughts turned to murder when Lenny half turned and held up a finger in the universal sign of ‘SHHHH.’ Bruce figured that he could tell his bosses that ‘we all go a little crazy sometimes’. He hadn’t used that line in centuries and he figured he could survive whatever punishment they could cook up for him for killing Lenny.  
  
Perhaps Lenny sensed this shift in the talons digging into his scaly hide, perhaps he just had a better view—in any case, he fully turned and explained, “I don’t like the beady eyed little man luring the silver fox down that darkened hallway.”  
  
Bruce pushed forward to take a look and sure enough, he could even hear the faint ominous theme music that belonged to a different sort of evil than he and Lenny. “Let’s move.” He motioned to Lenny to follow him as they hid under skirts and followed along with a catering cart in order to cross the room.  
  
“Is he hunting?” Lenny asked when they entered the darkened hallway. When Bruce just growled, Lenny looked back at him.  
  
Pointing up at the faulty lighting and then cupping his ear to hear the music, Bruce spoke slowly so that Lenny would have a better chance of understanding. “Slashers and serial killers don’t follow the Rules of Fodder.”  
  
Lenny’s jaw dropped open. Life was so unfair. All this time he had been pining away for a taste of that silver fox and here was a whole new kind of evil just barging in with no regard and taking what should one day be his. “They don’t have any rules?” He asked indignantly. Then as a brilliant idea occurred to him, he suggested, “Can we kill him?”  
  
Bruce motioned for them to stop as the hallway reached a corner. He listened for the music before he turned right and continued on. “Slashers and serials usually go for motive, but sometimes they don’t even know what they are doing until the very end.” Stopping again, Bruce pointed at the halfway closed door to almost darkness. Looking Lenny in the eye, Bruce enunciated, “We can’t kill him in front of her.” When Lenny opened his mouth to object, he spoke over him. “Even if he has her down and it looks bad, we can’t kill him. It’s the Code of Evil.” He shook his head at that compromise. It had sounded good at the time it was written what with all the evil versus evil and the mess it was creating. In times like these however, it seemed just down right stupid. “Slashers and serials have this, uh, tick, if you will, where they slowly raise their murder weapon over their head for the death blow. It is at this time that the victim usually does nothing and dies.” Smiling darkly, Bruce shook a finger at Lenny, “That’s where we can help the silver fox. She can kill him, no problem.”  
  
From within the darkened room there were the sounds of a tussle going very wrong. There was a female scream and a thud. The music grew more robust and ominous. Bruce nudged open the door pulling Lenny behind him.  
  
Miranda Priestly was backed into the corner, her dress torn, blood weeping from her hairline above her temple. Her blue eyes were wide and her heart was beating so loud that Lenny and Bruce could easily hear it. The little man was raising the candlestick ever so slowly over his head as Miranda watched helpless to move and waiting for the final blow that would end it all.  
  
Knowing they would be oblivious to him, Bruce snagged another candlestick from the table and stepped over toward Miranda. He slipped it into her hand, forcibly wrapping her fingers around the object so that she didn’t just drop it. Lenny had picked up a giant glass punch bowl that had just been left out on one of the tables. The man’s weapon reached the zenith over his head, Lenny threw the punch bowl to create a thunderous glass shattering effect, and Bruce shoved Miranda’s arm up and into action.  
  
Bruce and Lenny slipped back towards the doorway then, hoping that they had changed the course of that encounter. After all the best way to keep fodder fresh was to keep it alive, and they very much wanted the silver fox to stay fresh.  
  
  
  
 _ **14\. Ominous Fog, As Per Usual. (353 words)**_  
  
Models on time, all the right clothes and no pieces forgotten, traffic not in the way, props and animal trainers all on track, and the photographer brought all the right pieces—the photo shoot was proceeding according to plan, which almost never happened. In fact it was almost a shame because the back up plan had been totally brilliant and didn’t even involve running around in circles pulling hair.  
  
“That’s perfect, Elizabeth, yes, just to the right.” The photographer had not commented on the ridiculously thick and visible fog. He had merely gone up a rung higher on the ladder, had Billy adjust the light reflector, and switched out some filter thing on the end of his lens.  
  
Miranda and Andrea were too busy eye shagging to even notice.  
  
Emily narrowed her eyes and felt for her pockets and then down and across her thigh. Relieved, the red head unsnapped the leather and wrapped her fingers around the cold mother of pearl gun handle. Looking around the scene, this time for what wasn’t part of the photo shoot instead of what was part of the shoot, Emily wondered just how off schedule this would put them.  
  
After last week’s attack by Irv at the Gala and the unlikely rescue of Miranda by the beasties, Emily didn’t know what to think. However she knew that ridiculously thick fog that you could see and no one else seemed to notice, well, that meant something bad was going to happen to somebody. It was sad really. Elizabeth had shown such promise with this shoot.  
  
The fog rose up just then and the photographer moved up another rung on the ladder snapping photos all the way.  
  
Elizabeth was beautiful surrounded by the fog and her fear was so real that the images would be talked about for years.  
  
When the fog died away, despite Emily standing at the ready, Elizabeth’s body was nowhere to be found.  
  
‘Too bad she wasn’t a virgin.’ Emily mournfully thought as she tucked her gun back into the holster and sought out Serena. She was suddenly feeling so very, very horny.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **15\. Electricity: Marvel At Its Blueness. (426 words)**_  
  
Lenny moved to jump into the room from the window they had been snooping through. Bruce grabbed him by the scruff of his neck as if he was some kind of soft and cuddly kitten. Lenny turned to face his mentor as his legs flailed to gain sure footing once more. His eyes wide and motioning to the scene down below them, Lenny beseeched his older and wiser partner for some reason for them to not intervene. Bruce rolled his eyes and then pointed with one gnarled paw to the far corner of the room.  
  
That beady-eyed man might have kidnapped the silver fox. He might have even roughed her up. He might have been approaching her with a too large knife as she struggled futilely against her bonds. He might have motive and he might even remember not to raise his weapon in slow motion over his head in order to give her time to miraculously fight back.  
  
However, he did not lock the door and he did not properly subdue his victim’s mate.  
  
There at the far side of the room, the brunette (ugly duckling of the group who had emerged as the silver fox’s favorite) was approaching. Her words were not important. Her eyes were communicating with the silver fox even as her words were directed at the horrible little man.  
  
He turned on her, leaving his victim in favor of a new challenge. Killing her in front of her lover would make the end result so much sweeter. Bruce had to admit as far as evil went—this was one sick man. Lenny was rocking forward and back on the windowsill as he watched the man swing at the brunette with the knife a few times. It was almost like watching a badly choreographed dance routine. Finally the woman jumped up on the abandoned desk and pulled the overhead lighting from the ceiling. Electricity visibly sparked from the end of the live wire. The man should have backed away, but his bloodlust had risen so there was no rational thought in his head. As he lunged forward, the brunette slammed the cord down at him, wrapping it around his neck.  
  
For the next 30 to 60 seconds the electricity coursed up and down along his body and he danced the funny dance of frying. Bruce leaned forward and whispered in Lenny’s ear, “Electricity: Marvel at it and all of its blueness.”  
  
Lenny laughed and turned to give his mentor a high five. “Good eye, Boss. Good eye.” He joyfully complemented his mentor.  
  
  
x

 

  
_**16\. Vision Based On Movement. (407 words)**_  
  
After checking in on the fashionistas one more time, Bruce and Lenny headed off to the park where they could pick up some dinner. It was Tuesday and that meant Tai Chi. Limber fodder was always tasty. Quickly making their way over to the Bethesda fountain, Bruce and Lenny checked out the tourist snacks. Then they were in the flat open area where the Tai Chi enthusiasts gathered at twilight. It really was wonderful. Standing on top of the little hill looking down on the group, Lenny’s stomach growled.  
  
“Come on, youngster, let’s see what you’ve got.” Bruce chided his younger compatriot as he lunged forward.  
  
The crowd ran in circles at first, then some of the stronger ones broke off and made for the trees. From the splashing sounds behind them, they could tell that at least one had managed to jump into the fountain. Rather than throwing a penny, maybe they thought this gave them a better chance of having their wish granted.  
  
Eventually Bruce and Lenny fixed on one that hadn’t quite made it to the trees. It had stopped moving and stood still. The wide eyes blinked infrequently and slowly like its breathing. Lenny looked toward his partner as they closed in and the music got louder. “What’s it doing?” He whisper shouted to Bruce.  
  
“Some Fodder think that running long distances will throw us off. Others think that if they don’t move, then we can’t see them. This one either thinks it’s hidden, or it’s dying of a heart attack right now.” Bruce was within jumping distance now. He was always suspicious of this kind of fodder because at any moment it might realize that doing anything would be better than watching their demise close in. Running, punching, or kicking would all get a reaction that could change the whole chain of events. Hell, he remembered a case outside of Woodstock in ’67 where some of that crazy Fodder had actually danced a jig! The cops had been able to close in before the jig was up and the crazy Fodder lived to tell the tale. “You go for the upper body and I’ll take the lower body.”  
  
Lenny rolled his eyes, “Why can’t I take the lower body?”  
  
Glad he had a good excuse besides his fear of the Fodder, Bruce grunted, “I’m heavier so I take the bottom. On three: one, two, three!” They jumped, the Fodder fell and that was what they would call dinner.  
  
  
  
 _ **17\. Oh, The Suspense, or Not. (Words 296)**_  
  
Lenny could feel it. The adrenaline was coursing through his veins and his salivary glands were working overtime. He had waited for the right allotment of fodder, even if it wasn’t his long lusted after silver and red foxes with their group, still it would be the fourth successful hunt he had led. He was on his way to proving to Bruce that he was worthy and to proving that he could be allowed to hunt solo.  
  
All of a sudden he felt a big paw on the back of his neck and unfortunately familiar talons digging into his flesh. “Wot!?” He stopped flabbergasted at being interrupted just before his next big moment.  
  
Bruce pulled him closer and then pointed to the fodder in the distance. “Listen.” He whispered as he continued to watch the scene.  
  
“Why’s the music playing already, Bruce? We aren’t even close to them yet?” Lenny wiped the back of his paw against his mouth to forestall the trail of drool that was imminent.  
  
Bruce narrowed his eyes as he continued to look off into the distance. Sure enough two of the teenagers had left the group to investigate whatever noise they had heard and then another friend had jumped up out at them from the bushes. “They are in a suspense fake out situation.” He shook his head. He really hated that when the action was just going to get good and then it was fodder’s dog, cat, or friend instead of a zombie, monster, or even a slasher/serial. Patting Lenny on the back, Bruce assured him, “You were on the right track, Lenny. That won’t ruin your three in a row.” Turning away from his unlucky partner, Bruce started heading deeper into Central Park. “Come on, let’s go find dinner.”  
  
  
  
  
 _ **18\. I’ll Be Back. (345 words)**_  
  
“I can’t believe mom let us come to the party.” Caroline whispered to Cassidy.  
  
Her smiling twin nodded and whispered back. “As long as Roy drives us to and from and was willing to wait outside for us.”  
  
Caroline’s face switched from joy to shock in a second. “No way?” She looked around them to make sure that no one else was listening. “He’s outside?”  
  
Laughing Cassidy patted her shocked sister on the arm. “Relax. He’s safer than we are. There’s a whole group of us in here having a party while there’s been so many attacks on people we know. We’re more likely targets with all these hormonal teenagers and tough guys around.”  
  
Nodding solemnly, Caroline responded, “Good thing we’re virgins then.” Sharing a laugh at this, the girls turned to join the others in the main room for the movie.  
  
Halfway through the film there was a loud sound of glass breaking and everyone screamed and held onto the person next to them. One of the boys stood up after the initial screeching finished. He made his way to the door straightening his clothes as he went. “What are you doing?” Someone hissed from the middle of the room.  
  
The tall boy turned and gave the group a reassuring smarmy smile, “I’ll be back.”  
  
He swept out of the room as everyone disengaged from whomever they had grabbed onto and began to whisper. No one wanted to say it out loud, but the general feeling in the room was clear—he wasn’t coming back.  
  
Cassidy held out her cell phone to her sister with Roy’s name highlighted. Caroline took the phone, pressed the green icon and waited the requisite two rings. “We’ll meet you at the door, Roy.” She pressed the red icon, handed it back to her sister and stood. Cassidy followed her sister toward the front door.  
  
Roy was on the phone with emergency dispatch, but his eyes were wary as he escorted his precious cargo back to the car. The small baseball bat looked totally natural in his free hand.  
  
  
  
  
 _ **19\. The Crazy Scientist. (477 words)**_  
  
Nigel wondered what it was about photo shoots and galas. For the last several months they had either been attacked or chased or saved from being attacked or chased by beasties and even that psycho Irving Ravtiz. At least ever since that time out in the woods of back and beyond when Emily had taken a shot at them, people at least started to be prepared. Andrea had even whispered to him that the family motto had become something like, ‘if you’re prepared for zombies, then you’re prepared for anything.’ He supposed she was right, but it was a little much to be going around with guns, ammo, and blades of the apocalypse in addition to all of the fashion, accessories, make-up, lighting, cameras, tripods, fans, and other items.  
  
Whatever was after them seemed to be relatively considerate. One had saved Emily from the other when it hadn’t followed the proper rules of engagement or something like that. Even when they had been chased after that gala, it had been after the gala and not before or during the middle of it. He wondered about why that was, but figured it was almost as futile of a question as why they were after them in the first place.  
  
Now he was out of breath, hiding in a smaller studio with Emily, Serena, and Kennedy or Kasey or whatever her name was. He couldn’t believe it was happening again. He was glad to live to tell the tale, but he didn’t think you were supposed to have to go through harrowing experience after harrowing experience. He felt like he worked on board the Battleship Galactica instead of for Runway Magazine.  
  
After the first few thuds on the door shook their barricade, Nigel hissed at Emily. “Where’s your gun? I have the best angle.” Emily held it up and shook her head. Exasperated, Nigel looked at Serena, then returned to Emily. “Give it to me, or switch places.”  
  
Emily switched places with Serena so that she was closer to Nigel, but refused to hand over the gun. “Get the table cloths ready. We can capture it when it bursts in.”  
  
Nigel stared at her for three full seconds while their barricade shook and trembled. He looked at Serena who shrugged her shoulders. “We have to kill it, Emily.” Nigel leaned his head forward hoping to mesmerize her with his seriousness or at least to ascertain if an alien had crawled into her brain. He wondered if he could check the back of her neck for a band-aid. As he was considering asking Serena to check the red head’s neck she answered him.  
  
“We must capture it alive and study it!” She looked like Emily, had the mannerisms of Emily, but Nigel still couldn’t believe it.  
  
His hand on his hip, he asked her, “When did you become the crazy scientist?”  
  
  
  
  
 _ **20\. Rules are made to be broken. (325 words)**_  
  
The lights still on downstairs meant that the family was still up. Emily made her way down the hall with the Book and greeted them. The girls had books out on the table and appeared to be studying intently while Miranda and Andrea seemed to be shopping out of a shared catalog. “Hello, hello.” The red head greeted them. “Miranda, where would you like the Book?”  
  
Standing, Miranda made her way around to Emily with an outstretched hand. “I’ll take it.” She greeted her assistant with a half hug and an air kiss. “Join us for a coffee, Emily?” Miranda tucked the book under her arm and headed in the direction of the brewing pot in the corner.  
  
“Yes, please.” Emily stepped closer and greeted the girls with a kiss on the head. “What are you reading, girls?” She greeted Andrea with a half hug and an air kiss before sitting down next to Cassidy.  
  
Sliding her book over to the other red head, Cassidy pointed to her. “You can kill vampires with stakes or silver bullets.”  
  
Caroline lifted her book up to show Emily the picture, as she added, “So a silver net could hold and hurt them.”  
  
Emily let them continue sharing their recently learned facts and figures while Andrea and Miranda returned to their catalog shopping at the end of the table. When they had run through the fairly regular monsters and beasties, Emily set her large pistol on the table and patted it. “Have you found our beasties in those books of yours yet?” When the two girls shook their heads, Emily nodded sagely. “There isn’t always some magical or special way of killing a creature that’s out to get you.” With another little pat on her gun, Emily picked it up and bent her elbow up so that the weapon rested against her shoulder. “There’s no shame in being offed by a simple double-barrel shot gun blast to the head.”  
  
  
 _ **21\. Bombs Can’t Kill Fashionistas. (900 words)**_ As far as I know ‘pistol jockey’ is just my term for Emily being good with a gun. I even googled it to make sure it wasn’t some porno word or something.  
  
  
Bruce crawled up next to Lenny and patted him gently on the back. He remained silent, because tears really were not his forte, especially tears that he had no idea why they were happening. Loved ones crying over their fallen fodder—understandable. Car crash and some horrible wreckage involving casualties and people on the sidelines were crying—understandable. Kid crying on swing set long after school was out because other kid dumped him/her—understandable. Lenny, the big, bad, monster, reptilian, demonesque creature crying with no identifiable cause in sight—no, not understandable, not at all. Bruce wanted to stamp his foot, but he had already sat down next to Lenny with his feet dangling off the edge of the roof.  
  
After many moments of somewhat silent crying, Lenny turned and wailed on Bruce’s shoulder not even noticing that the bigger badder, more monstrous, even more reptilian, super demon creature was not hugging him back. “That serial planted a bomb over there.” Lenny loosed one of his paws to point with a shaky talon across the street.  
  
It was then that Bruce recognized where they were—across the street from the fashionistas’ building, but up on the roof. They had not stalked their favorite pack of fodder from this vantage point. Bruce wrapped an arm around Lenny so that they did not accidentally (or on purpose) fall toward their deaths some 20 stories below. As annoying as he was, Bruce didn’t want Lenny to die that way. He pondered over Lenny’s words taking a bit longer than usual because he had to filter out the wailing distortion caused by Lenny’s crying. Then the light bulb went on and he knew all was not lost. “There, there.” He said patting the youngster on the back. “Did you hear how long the police said they had on the timer?”  
  
Lenny sniffled some snot back into his face and then wiped the back of his paw across his face. Processing Bruce’s words in the silences between his pitiful snorts and sobs, Lenny realized that Bruce had asked a tactical question instead of sharing his condolences on the missed chance of a fine meal. “They said five minutes when I called you.” He turned sad greenish eyes full of valiantly fought tears toward his mentor. “That was four minutes ago.” Lenny’s bottom lip trembled as he tried to live on hope like his colleague had tried to teach him.  
  
Waving his hand dismissively at the building across the street, Bruce settled on his seat a little more. “You said a serial planted the bomb?” At Lenny’s nod, Bruce continued. “That same beady-eyed little man that let the silver fox wallop him with the candlestick?” At Lenny’s second nod, Bruce rumbled out a laugh as he looked down at his watch. “I reckon they’ve got about twenty seconds on the clock now then, don’t you?” Bruce turned to face his protégé expecting an answer. He accepted a third nod, but if this silence kept up, then he would consider tossing him over the edge after all. “In about fifteen seconds they will make a run for it.” He motioned across the space toward the other building. It will all be sorted in about a minute, just you wait, young Lenny. Not all is lost.”  
  
Bruce’s tone, words, and body language all oozed confidence, but Lenny wasn’t sure he could reach that far on just hope alone. Sighing, Lenny consulted Bruce’s watch and was summarily shrugged off.  
  
“There.” Bruce pointed down below, “You see? They’ve begun to run for it now.” Sure enough the police at the line were practically salivating as they watched inside the glass walls of the lobby. Multiple figures appeared to be moving at speed across the lower level. The glass doors opened and the bald man lead the silver fox, her brunette favorite, the blonde honey snack, and the red headed pistol jockey toward the waiting police, fire, and emergency teams.  
  
Lenny sat up straight seeing his favorite flavors all in one piece, outside the building, and safe after all. He reached over and grabbed Bruce’s wrist twisting it to see his watch.  
  
Bruce twisted his arm around and thumped Lenny hard across the side of his head. “Give it five, four, three, two…” Bruce held the word and then motioned down to the building, “Hey, presto!” He said as the glass vibrated and then gave way to a rather impressive explosion.  
  
Bruce dusted himself off, fully intending on going to find some dinner, when Lenny jumped up and shook him by the shoulders. “Wot was that?!” He demanded in the high-pitched frequency of the seriously deranged.  
  
“Bomb time does not run on our time. If we could have flashed back and forth from the bomb timer to the view of the fodder running we would have seen that the time it took for the bomb to count down miraculously took longer than the practically slow motion running of the fodder as they made a break for it. Once the fodder has initiated the dramatic dive out the window or slid through the door at a full run, then and only then, does the bomb go off.” Bruce shook his head. “Serials just don’t get it.” Hopping down from the ledge and making his way back to the broken open rooftop access door, Bruce turned to his partner. “You coming? I’m hungry.”  
  
  
  
  
 _ **22\. Bombs Still Can’t Kill Fashionistas. (1198 words)**_ This cliché had an A and a B, so I wrote both!  
  
Lenny just couldn’t help himself. He had to see that red headed girl again. He knew he couldn’t hunt her, but there was nothing wrong with admiring her, right? The high intensity suspense music wasn’t even playing and he was incredibly close to the women. It had been three weeks since he had been around and he just couldn’t resist a longing gaze upon the three women and a free sniff of their perfume. He sure hoped that none of them decided to take the clothing rack he was hidden on back to ‘The Closet.’ The way people said the name, with both fear and awe, led Lenny to think of it like an inner level of Hell and he had no desire to get back home so soon. He supposed he could always jump out at them, growl, shake his head, and elongate his occipital lobes while he let his teeth snare out toward them. That would likely stop them from moving the clothing rack. Then he sighed as he remembered—there was no Closet here.  
  
These temporary quarters in the fashion district had a Haute Poor feel to them compared to the Runway floor that had been blown up, but it seemed that the women were taking inspiration where they found it. They were not making do, instead they were making better. At least from what Lenny could see from the spark in their eyes and the animated way they seemed to be suggesting things to each other and letting the conversation evolve around them. Perhaps losing the walls and nearly losing each other was the truly great equalizer.  
  
The silver fox was leaning against her desk as she contemplated what the other two were showing her. If Lenny didn’t know any better he might have thought it was a game of charades, but there was less wine and more red pen than would be accepted at a party.  
  
“Oh, Miranda.” The new comer startled Lenny, which he scolded himself should not have happened. “Zere you are.” This one smelled different and sounded different too. Lenny could tell from her outer trappings that she was a fashionista, but he thought that she would have a less succulent texture than the others. “It took me weeks to find you.”  
  
Inhaling slowly and then exhaling, the silver fox, stood straight and then walked around her desk. Lenny’s brow crinkled as he realized that this newcomer’s scent must have lingered here from before, since it was familiar. The butterflies in his stomach began swooping and diving making him decidedly uncomfortable with the situation.  
  
“Surprised you’re not off licking your wounds, Jacqueline.” The silver fox let each word drip with disdain from her tongue as she rounded her desk and faced the woman with a deadly glare.  
  
The red head covered her mouth with her hand while the brunette openly let a sly smile spread across her face.  
  
Lenny could not believe what he was seeing and he didn’t like it either. He had been watching these fashionistas for months now and had only seen this newcomer once before.  
  
Pouting, the intruder continued forward so that she was almost standing between the silver fox’s favorites. “You wound me, Miranda.”  
  
Behind her the brunette and the red head made various stabbing motions and tried not to laugh out loud.  
  
Snorting the most delicate snort ever snorted, the silver fox waved her hand dismissively, “I think not.” Hooking her chair with one leg, she added, “You should leave.” The tall woman lowered herself to her chair when a great many things happened at once.  
  
A pressure sensitive bomb timer clicked on.  
Lenny realized what the new woman was all about.  
His favorite fashionistas’ eyes went wide with their own realizations.  
  
The strange woman replied in an amused tone, “Oui. I should leave now. I just wanted to make sure you knew who your present was from.” Her lilting accent had Lenny salivating and ready to lunge after her as she backed out of the room.  
  
Torn between raging out after her, and seeing his favorites through to the end, Lenny partially crushed the pole of the clothing rack in his fist. The red head jumped up and ran around the desk. On her hands and knees she approached the silver fox. “Five minutes and counting down.” She confidently relayed to the others in the room. She crept forward sweeping the silver one’s skirt up into her lap where sweaty palms clasped it. She began describing the red, black, green wires, the amount of explosive, the double redundancy features, and the amount placement and kind of explosive. The brunette slowly came around the desk on the other side, drawing the blue gaze of the silver haired one with her.  
  
On her knees the brunette held trembling white hands on the lap between them as she whispered words of love and encouragement that made about as much sense as the rapid fire bomb squad technician vocabulary from the red headed narrator that held their lives in her hand.  
  
As the red head tinkered with things, the bomb clock sped up and she swore.  
  
At five seconds, the brunette ran out of words.  
  
At four seconds, the silver lover felt tears drip from her cheeks to their hands.  
  
At three seconds, the red head pulled something, hurt her finger, and swore again.  
  
At two seconds, hands were tangled in hair, lips and tongues treasured what time they had.  
  
At one second, the red head pulled the final wire, watched that the clock had stopped, and shouted “Fuck you, bad guy. Beat that!”  
  
In the next second her arms were around the other two, all three were standing, and Lenny felt a series of tears cascade down his cheeks.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Much later, Lenny found Bruce hunting in the Bronx as he was prone to do on Thursdays. He re-told the story, leaving out only his own crying and then asked his mentor what it was all about. Bruce chuckled at Lenny’s incredulity and then explained. “Just like when that serial planted the bomb in their original headquarters—you can’t kill the heroine with a bomb.” When Lenny just flapped his jaw in wonder, Bruce continued. “Some times bomb time doesn’t run on regular time.” Patting the youngster on the shoulder, he added, “Other times your hero becomes a master bomb technician. Not only disarming the bomb, but doing so with one second left on the timer.” Remembering the first time he had seen such a phenomenon himself, Bruce went on wistfully. “It’s as if the Fodder is saying, ‘Fuck you, bad guy. Beat that!!!’”  
  
His jaw open wide in shock, Lenny murmured, “She did.”  
  
Looking sideways at his companion, Bruce asked, “Did wot?”  
  
Lenny looked straight into Bruce’s eyes and he said slowly, “She said, and I quote, ‘Fuck you, bad guy. Beat that!’ And then she threw down part of the bomb and they stood up and were all dancing together in joy.” He only barely caught the exclamation of how beautiful it was and trapped his tears.  
  
“That’s a right rare thing, mate.” Bruce said. “Come on, let’s have us a drink.”  
  
  
  
 _ **23\. Waking Up. (99 words)**_ —no cliché for this one, consider it my wild space on a bingo card  
  
Jocelyn chased through the park  
  
Nate acting tough after the dark  
  
Models milling round like sheep  
  
Unnamed assistants taken out by creeps  
  
Elizabeth, full of fear, eaten in the fog  
  
Sounds in the night, something woke the dog  
  
Not long after they awoke  
  
A fever filled head and a burning throat  
  
Struggling for balance as they walked  
  
In search of brains they stalked  
  
Zombies, zombies, every one  
  
Watch out, Miranda, you better run!  
  
Slow moving horror of the undead  
  
Fills every darkest night with dread  
  
Come on, Emily, let’s have some fun  
  
Where, oh, where, is your zombie gun?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 _ **24\. Good Job Trapping Yourself. (451 words)**_  
  
The moon was full, but Lenny’s mind wasn’t on the running of the wolves. Instead his mind was on the horde of zombies roaming New York City. He and Bruce had headed to higher ground. This kind of virus ran through the fodder population from time to time and it was best to just let it run its course. The fodder that survived was not only smarter and stronger, but it was tastier as well—flavored as it was with the thrill of survival. Life never tasted so sweet.  
  
“Sigh.” So Lenny sat perched on his branch waiting for Bruce to come back with reports.  
  
They were scanning the fodder news (FNN) for updates on traffic, as well as information on police and hospital status. Finding dinner was both harder and easier in these situations. People were running scared and sticking together which increased hunting opportunities, however it also made everyone and their grandmother sharpshooters. In addition to that, you didn’t want to eat contaminated fodder. That woozy feeling was hard to shake, but at least it didn’t leave Lenny’s kind like the walking dead of the fodder.  
  
Below him, Lenny leaned to see a determined few make their way into the old abandoned building behind the old abandoned gas station. It was a great location and Lenny was glad that Bruce had suggested it as a spot to lay low for a few days. He had fond memories of the last time they were out there in the boonies hunting.  
  
“Will you look at that?” Bruce jumped from the next tree over and landed next to Lenny, shaking the whole tree and causing frightful creaking in the branch they were on. Puzzled Lenny looked at his partner, but said nothing. Bruce pointed to the current survivors breaking into the building below. “Good job trapping yourselves, innit?” Bruce scoffed at the fodder below as they slammed the door shut and noises from within indicated barricading activities.  
  
Bruce handed Lenny a leg to snack on from the makeshift backpack he had scavenged.  
  
“Aren’t they just getting somewhere safe like we did?” Lenny asked as he let his leg bone fall to the ground below.  
  
Bruce looked at Lenny and then the house and back again. “I thought zombies were slow, but you are slower.”  
  
Offended, Lenny turned to his mentor in outrage, “Hey, they aren’t slow all the time.” Belatedly he realized that he should have defended himself instead of the reputation of the zombies.  
  
Bruce thought of a hundred million slams, witty repartees and zingers in an instant. He chose instead to hold his breath for a count of eight hundred before he began to once again educate his young, occasionally dumb, protégé. Motioning to the decrepit house and then their treetop perch, Bruce asked, “Will the zombies break in?” Nodding at the rhetorical question, Bruce continued, “Of course they will break in, which means the only way out will be through the invading horde of brain suckers or to dismantle one of their carefully constructed barricades, which they can’t do by the time the zombies get them.” Bruce nodded again, his lecture was picking up steam. “For that is the one instance where zombies move swiftly—when they are that close to fresh brains.” He motioned down at the eerily silent house. “As far as I know, zombies can’t climb.” He motioned back at the great trunk of the wide oak tree they were sheltered in. “So why not find the fattest tree to climb and wait the SOB’s out?” He smugly grinned at the light bulb going on over the little reptilian demon’s head.  
  
Thinking of the last time they were there and if his favorite red head were there with them again, with her big gun, Lenny swallowed hard. If she were here, she would not trap herself, or at least if she trapped herself, she would do it where the zombies could be taken out one by one with those smoking double barrels. He remembered how magnificent she looked the night she had shot out the windshield and aimed at Bruce. He had dropped his hold on the bald tasty man in order to take a better look.  
  
Wiping a tear with one scaly paw, Lenny sniffled, “I miss the redhead with the gun.”  
  
Raising an eyebrow at the sentimentality of the youngster he had been stuck with, Bruce deadpanned, “The one who shot me?” When Lenny only sniffled and nodded, Bruce cuffed the side of his head.  
  
  
  
 _ **25\. Damn Right, I’m a Sharp Shooter. (1441 words.)**_  
  
“I’m bored.” Lenny complained as they completed their hunting loop for the third foodless day in a row. “There hasn’t been any fresh fodder in days.” He let out a sigh that revealed his age more than his reptilian skin ever would. “What did you call the bad fodder? Zombies? Well, we haven’t even seen any of them in days either.” Lenny looked at Bruce’s back as he trudged along. So far his mental powers of suggestion hadn’t worked and it didn’t seem like his verbal skills were up to the task either. Bruce hadn’t even looked at him in two days, let alone appeared interested in hearing his thoughts. Lenny continued valiantly on. He had little else to do in any case. “We should go back. See how they are doing.”  
  
At the tender note of longing in his naïve partner’s voice, Bruce turned around. “You miss the Fodder?” His question held notes of incredulity, frustration, and anger. The fodder population might have been completely wiped out by this most recent infestation of zombie-virus, which could mean starvation for them as well as their kind, and his partner wanted to go and check on his favorite prey like they were some kind of pets. He’d want to have a bed in the living room next to the dog bed, if he didn’t keep an eye on him.  
  
Lenny squirmed under the intense gaze of his mentor. He hadn’t looked at him in two days and he hadn’t had this look of pique in quite some time. He was hungry and miserable and the day’s end was not bringing any solace whatsoever. “I’m hungry and if they survived, well, they’d be real tasty.” Lenny tried to turn it around, the pitch of his voice rising to a hopeful squeak.  
  
Saying nothing Bruce just let out a sigh through flared nostrils and climbed back up the tree they had been sheltering in. Lenny kept his tongue, but as he watched Bruce begin to pack up their nest, he was about to burst from the hope welling up inside of him.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
When Miranda had first ordered Emily to purchase the abandoned warehouse of the defunct Holt International, Emily had been amused at her boss’ sense of irony. As the orders came to gut the place, Emily felt like Miranda was excising the cancer of the attempted coup in Paris like a surgeon would. However when Miranda had Emily re-design the interior like a warehouse sized panic room on a bloated military contract on steroids, well, Emily had to wonder. Over the last ten months as the entire Runway crew had been chased, attacked, and surely stalked—Emily had thrown herself into her work with gusto—adding gun cabinets, arranging ammo in the cellar like the wine, hanging katanas and crossbows on the walls between displays of haute couture as well as various face masks, helmets, vests, and protective pants.  
  
When the twins had whispered the new family motto to her on machete morning, Emily had commissioned an artist friend of hers from Chelsea to paint the words on the western wall. “If you’re prepared for zombies, then you are prepared for anything.”  
  
Ten months ago, Emily would never have believed it, yet here she was in the center of moving Runway into the new headquarters and organizing the resistance to the uprising of the undead known as the zombie horde. “Hurry up.” She commanded crisply to the new arrivals she and Nigel had rounded up from the last photo shoot. Miranda would not appreciate housing the models, however it was always good to have a first line of defense that wasn’t yourself. She knew that Miranda couldn’t refute that logic. Besides it would be enough to know that they had saved Patrick. Runway was sure to come out on top when this horde business had passed them by. It might even become the parent company to Elias Clark when all was said and done. A lot could be said for having solar power, in house electricity and a fully functional hydroponic garden. Survivors would need the essentials and they could provide them, for a price. Emily smiled as she looked over her new de facto recruits.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The trek back had taken longer than when they had fled the city, but Lenny knew that with each tiresome step they were returning home. He may have been from the outer levels of Hell originally but he was more certain than ever that he considered Manhattan his hunting grounds. Bruce hadn’t said much but from the way he was carrying himself, Lenny could tell that he was looking forward to their return as well. Perhaps not for the same reasons, but that was fine too.  
  
Following their noses to find their favorite fashionistas had proven difficult as the smell of death permeated everything. New York was still standing but its inhabitants were rotting it from within. Stashing their belongings in their Central Park tree, the duo made their way over to the fashion headquarters and then the silver fox’s home. Abandoned, Bruce turned to Lenny as if to ask, ‘What now, smarty pants?’  
  
Lenny accepted this challenge and with a nod had led the way to the Fashion District. He had followed the wobbly new assistants on their rounds in the big black car on more than one occasion. There in the heart of the fashionista world, Lenny tried his nose again. This time he picked up the scent of life and even more than that he picked up the scent of his favorite redhead and the bald man. On the outside, it looked like all the other dilapidated buildings, but he could hear the electrical buzz of a living building within and knew he had found them.  
  
Looking behind them, Lenny and Bruce were dismayed to find that they were not the only ones to have found the fresh scent of life appealing. Slowly the zombie fodder approached. Bruce and Lenny climbed for their lives, hoping that their favorites would survive once more. Scrambling up the side of the building and in through a crack between floors, they hoped for the best.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
The alarm klaxons rang out and everyone sprang into action. The crisis might be ending, if the intervals between zombie hordes were anything to go by, but they still had to survive this encounter to even bother with a long-term view.  
  
Miranda gathered her girls and armed Andrea to protect them, while Emily handed out weapons, duty stations, and hissed out contingencies. “What are you doing, Emily?” Miranda had questioned as she sent the last of the people off with their assignments. She wasn’t sure where the last two had come from (a nerdy little teenaged boy and a rather obese fellow who sweat constantly), but she was sure that they would be needed.  
  
Emily looked up at her boss and then back down again to retrieve her favorite rifle. Handing the weapon over to her, Emily assured her. “Fear is a great equalizer.” Waving her hand that them, she added, “It doesn’t matter the type of gun, they’ll shoot.” Smiling wistfully, Emily remembered when she had first started shooting. “Remember me?” She asked, “Damn right, I’m a sharp shooter.” She quoted herself after recounting that woods encounter with Nigel and the beasties. Pulling out her own Widow Maker, Emily grinned evilly at her boss. “Ready?” Not waiting for an answer, she headed for the southern wall where the alarm klaxons had been tripped.  
  
*** *** ***  
  
Zombie bodies shoved outside to pile with the rest. The fodder shuttered the doors once more and celebrated Life. Extra ammo was taken down to the cellar while wine was retrieved. It was a beautifully efficient system. Lenny and Bruce watched from their perches drinking from their own stolen bottle.  
  
“What just happened then?” Lenny asked his compatriot.  
  
Bruce took a hearty sip, swished it in his mouth a moment and then chugged the whole glass. “Something about zombies gives everyone a trigger finger. Ex-military, nerdy teen, obese fellows who don’t move much, and even ditsy clackers are suddenly all equally gifted with a gun in their hands. It doesn’t matter the type either—hand gun, machine gun, shot gun, or sniper rifle. Almost all head shots too, the scientists have never been able to figure it out, but I think it has to do with never having been that scared in their lives.” Patting Lenny on the shoulder, Bruce turned away, “Come on, we can snack on some of the models tomorrow. Let’s get some rest.”  
  
x  
  
Hope you enjoyed all of these ☺  
  
 _ **FIN.**_  
  
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